Happy Christmas, Scarhead
by drivelikebandits
Summary: [One-Shot, HPDM] Just some angsty fluff about Christmas in Hogwarts between two certain students.


**Just a fluff. Rated for language, mild violence, and very mild slash. I love Christmas, and I love Harry!Draco, so here I bring you my two favorite things in ONE STORY! Enjoy. Told from Draco's point of view. Takes place during sixth year.**

**By the way, this is a one-shot. I doubt I'll continue it, unless I feel truly inspired after finishing up "Chasing A Shadow." Um, yes. Again, enjoy!**

**I don't own Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, or any other characters that might make an appearance in this story. I do own Christmas, however. ...Kidding. Obviously. All credit goes to JK Rowling, and Christ for being born and giving us a fantabulous holiday.**

**Happy Christmas, Scarhead**

For as long as I can remember, I've always hated Christmas. I hate how all the idiot students of this forsaken school skip about, wondering if they'll get that new racing broom they've wanted–completely ignorant to the fact that acquiring a new racing broom will cost more than their lives are worth. I hate how Pansy Parkinson comes up to me, attempting to plant a disgusting, foul kiss on my cheek before saying how much she'll miss me, knowing full well that I won't miss her at all. I hate how the Great Hall has so many trees in it that when you walk into the room, the smell of pine slaps you promptly across the face before swiping your appetite and making off with it. On top of that, I hate how McGonagall walks around with that damn list, writing down the names of all the pathetic morons who have to stay behind because their families don't want them over the holiday.

Mostly, I hate how I've become one of those morons. And it's all thanks to Harry Potter, actually. If he hadn't have turned my father in for being a Death Eater, then he never would have been sent to Azkaban, only for my mother to be thrust into prison shortly after. That stupid prat stole my family, only because he doesn't have one of his own. Unfortunately, I've come to realize that I miss my family during Christmas about as much as I miss Pansy. Basically, I don't miss them at all. My family was never a _close_ family–at least not the kind that you'll ever find on Muggle greeting cards. Still, I was secure in the fact that I at least _had_ a family.

But Potter took that from me. That bastard takes everything from me.

I know that my parents probably deserved it. They've used their share of Unforgivables, and it's high time someone took a stand. But why did it have to be him? In a way, I was grateful–to be without them was a wonderful release, and I was no longer living under their tyrannical fists. But at the same time, they were all I knew, all I was. Now I had to venture off and be my own person. This was about to be the biggest struggle of my teenage life.

I signed up to stay at Hogwarts over Christmas. I wrote my name as sloppily as I could on the list, hoping that perhaps it would be unreadable and no one would have to know that I, Draco Malfoy, had nowhere to go. Then, I would just stay in the dormitory all day, and sneak into the kitchens at night for food. No one would ever have to know that I stayed behind. And this all really sounded like a fantastic plan, and it worked for about a day. I began to feel like a cave-dwelling creature, the merest ray of sunlight blinding me. Yes, that's an elaborate exaggeration.

The Great Hall reeked of pine and cinnamon as I walked over to the Slytherin table. I saw Potter and Weasel sitting at the Gryffindor table. If I shouted enough insults at them, perhaps one of them would strangle me and I wouldn't have to inhale that wretched scent from the hall any longer. Instead, I chose to ignore them as they ignored me, although they clearly acknowledged my presence with poisonous glares. It pissed me off to see that Granger went home for the holidays–even that filthy mudblood was wanted at home.

From where I was sitting, Weasel had his back to me, and Potter sat across from him. I stared at them while I chewed on a slice of bread. They didn't seem to be talking, or at least Potter wasn't. He kept his eyes low, looking absolutely depressed. I was sick and tired of seeing that tosser look so bloody miserable. What did he have to be upset about? So the Dark Lord was out to get him? Fucking hell, like he didn't believe he'd win. He's Harry Potter! Of course he was going to win, because that's how things always work, isn't it? Good triumphs over evil, the hero always wins, and that's just how it goes. He needed to snap out of this melancholy bullshit state before I lost my nerve. He destroyed my life, and now was going to act like he was almost _sorry_ about it? He had done his best to avoid me thus far during the year like a shameful dog who had just shit on the floor. What an idiot.

I watched him get up from his seat, holding his cloak, saying something to Weasel before heading out of the hall. Feeling quite bored, I decided to follow him. After all, I had a great number of things to say to him. When I reached the main hall, Potter had just stepped outside and turned to the left. The outside air wafted into the room, sending a sharp chill up my spine. I held my breath as I followed him out, as if doing this would make the bitter cold any less painful.

I about died when the winter air hit my skin. My shoes instantly began to soak through as I realized that they weren't proper for the snow. Why did that fool have to go outside? If I was going to irritate him, the least he could do was keep it indoors.

I turned and followed him through the snow, hearing the delicate crunch beneath my feet. The snow was still pure, untouched since its last fall. And here was Potter, trudging through it sullenly, carrying on like a world-weary hero of some tragic fairytale. He didn't stop walking until he reached the lake, which was frozen over. I finally caught up with him, panting harshly through the cold, puffs of steam escaping from my lips. For this stupid trek, I wanted to push him onto the ice and then perform a melting curse on it, only to freeze it again once he was completely submerged underwater.

"Potter!" I called to him, shoving my hands in my pockets, attempting to look as cool as possible. It didn't work well. It's hard to look cool while your teeth are chattering and your body is shaking. Potter only glanced at me before turning his eyes back to the lake. I couldn't tell you what the hell he was looking at. All I saw was frozen water.

"Oi, Potter!" I called again. The wind then blew fiercely. I removed my hands from my pockets and wrapped them around my arms, covered only by my thin sleeves.

"Leave me alone, Malfoy," he muttered. I barely heard him through the whistling wind in my ears.

"Happy Christmas, Scarhead," I taunted. When he didn't reply, I continued. "So, why are you out here? Getting sick of Weasel already?"

"Why are _you_ out here?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow. I took a few steps toward him, feeling the moisture in my shoes rising to my pant legs. The bottom halves of my pants were completely soaked now. I could have punched him in the face for asking me a question like that.

"Oh, shut up, Potter," I spat. The two of us remained silent for at least five minutes. I vaguely remembered following him for a reason. I thought I had all these things I wanted to say, but they were lost to me now. All I could think about was the numbing feeling throughout my body.

"Aren't you cold?" asked Potter. Rather than sounding demeaning, he actually seemed concerned. I rolled my eyes.

"Of course I am, you idiot," I retorted through clenched teeth.

"Then go inside," he ordered. This actually made a lot of sense. I had to think quickly.

"I will when you do," was the best I could come up with. Potter sighed with annoyance and stood his ground. The wind blew by again, forcing an involuntary moan to escape from my throat. I was positive that if I stayed outside another minute, I would freeze to death. Still, I was staying with Potter. Eventually I'd remember what I had to say to him, and I wasn't going to leave his side until I did.

Potter's eyes turned sharply to me. "Fine," he said flatly. I smiled to myself, although even to do that was painful. I had won our first battle of the day. He continued his self-deprecating trudge through the snow, and I graciously followed. It seemed that we had journeyed for miles before we were finally back inside the castle. The warmth was so welcoming, melting every bone in my body. I stood still, positively basking in the heat. Then I realized that Potter was still walking, leaving me alone in the doorway.

"Where do you think you're going?" I asked. He never broke his stride as he answered.

"Away from you."

Every word he said seemed a challenge. Malfoys never turn down a challenge. I followed him through the hall, and up a set of stairs. He glanced over his shoulder at me a few times, but didn't question my motives. He stopped in front of a portrait of a disgusting woman wearing a horrible pink dress. He opened his mouth to speak, then turned back to me.

"Malfoy, what the hell do you want?" he asked, irritated.

"Dry clothes," I answered honestly. The warmth of the castle was beginning to wear off, and I found myself shivering again.

"Then go to your own dormitory." Potter's response made more sense than his ordering of me to go inside. I stared at him blankly, as if what he just said was a load of bollocks.

"You know, Potter, you're a right bastard," I stated. Ah, so _that_ was what I had wanted to tell him. Now it was coming back to me. I was expecting an argument of sorts to arise, but nothing did. He stood there and listened expectantly, withdrawing more ridicules from me. So, I gave him what he wanted.

"You walk around this place like you should be worshiped. You have those idiots, Weasel and Granger, who just _hang_ on your every word. I swear, they wouldn't be able to shit properly if you weren't around to show them. Do you really think they'd be your friends if you weren't The Boy Who Lived? That's the only reason _anyone_ cares about you, you know."

Potter let out a soft sigh, and said, "I know." He turned his back to me, said, "Unitas," to the portrait. It swung open and Potter crawled inside. I quickly crawled in after him, completely disregarding the fact that I was standing in the empty Gryffindor common room.

"Are you stupid? You just said the password in front of me!" I cried. Potter really had lost his marbles.

"I don't care," he mumbled. He flopped himself down on one of the couches, and sprawled out lazily. He looked up at me and said, "Did you come here only to tell me things that I already know? Because really, I don't need to hear it."

I rolled my eyes. "Potter, please. You truly believe that all these people love you. Don't act like you don't. You're such an arrogant prick. In fact, you're probably proud that you sent my parents to Azkaban."

Harry raised his eyebrows fleetingly. "You're right, Malfoy. I'm glad that I've ruined your life, because I'm that fucking malicious. Is that what you want to hear?" He sat up and stared at me, anger flashing in his eyes the more he seemed to think about what I had actually said to him. "Or would you rather me say that I'm quite aware no one gives a shit about me. The only reason anyone cares what I do is because I'm the one who has to save all their necks when it comes down to the wire."

This wasn't exactly what I'd had planned. I'm not really sure what I had planned, but I know it wasn't this. Who did Potter think he was to bear his soul to me? Was he actually trying to make me feel _guilty_?

Potter stood up, his face only inches from mine, as he continued on his rant. "You know what, Malfoy, I really _am_ glad that your parents were sent to Azkaban. They would have been eventually anyway, and they're better off there. They were cruel, vicious people, and it kills you to hear me say it because _you know it's true._"

Those last words dripped from his mouth like venom. I never thought I could hate Potter more than I did before this... I'm glad he proved me wrong. I did something then that I thought I'd never do in my life–I resorted to muggle violence. Or, rather, attempted to. I pulled back my fist, ready to knock Potter right in the jaw for being such an arsehole, and also for being so brutally honest. Unfortunately, Potter beat me to it. Literally.

I don't know what it was with Potter and his two idiots, but they loved to punch people. The mudblood did it first, now Potter himself? I was half expecting Weasel to run into the room and tag team against me. The shock of the blow was what knocked me off my feet, but the throbbing pain in my left cheek was a bit of a shock as well. Who knew that Potter could throw a punch?

I landed on the ground with a loud thud, which then caused another pain to jump through my tail bone. I stood up slowly, feeling Potter's gaze burn into me.

"Fuck, Potter!" I shouted, finally standing erect. He stood before me, still glaring daggers. It was then that I noticed that he was shaking. His eyes seemed to speak volumes, as if he had a thousand more things to say, but lacked the courage to actually speak.

It was then that I regretted following him in the first place. I began to regret every time I ever taunted him, every time I ever ridiculed his friends. I suddenly felt very foolish.

"Sorry," I muttered. And I truly was, and I had no idea why. I think it may have been because even though Potter attacked me with his words–and his fist–at least he was honest.

"I never asked for any of this," he said, his voice trembling with anger. "I didn't ask to be famous. Do you think I want to be the one who has to save the world? All I want is to wake up and forget about Voldemort–" he was brave for saying his name "–and forget that I'm some kind of celebrity. I don't want the world to depend on me! I just want to sleep without nightmares, go to class without people whispering that Harry Potter's finally gone mad, and for you to cut me some fucking slack. I'm sorry if my mere existence bothers you, but I'm just trying to survive here."

I watched Dumbledore's Golden Boy fall apart in front of my eyes. I wondered if he had ever told Granger or Weasel these things. For once, Potter left me entirely speechless. The anger in his eyes faded slowly as he took a step toward me, reaching his hand out and gently touching my left cheek with his fingertip. I winced and pulled back harshly.

"Sorry about that," he said in a hushed voice. "I shouldn't have punched you." He put his hands in his pockets.

"Yes, you should have," I replied softly. For the first time, I saw Potter as a three-dimensional human being. He wasn't just a whiny brat who complained too much. He was actually fearful for his own life. As selfish as this seemed, it was amazing to discover that he wasn't trying to be a hero. I grew very tired of the hero routine. He truly worried that he might _not_ win. Where Potter thought he was irregular, he was nothing but a normal, teenage boy–he was angst-ridden, he was broken, he had regrets, and he was tired of living up to everyone else's expectations.

Potter was beautiful.

I rarely considered my actions beforehand, and this was no different. I leaned forward, placing my right hand behind Potter's head. I pulled him towards me until our lips met. It was a simple, closed-lipped kiss, but it was much more than that. It was a truce, if you will. We weren't promising love, we weren't even promising friendship, but we were promising civility. We were promising an understanding. When I pulled back, he grinned sheepishly at me. I grinned back, the numbness of my body now replaced by a glowing warmth.

"Well, I'll be going now," I said. He nodded once. Turning on my heel, I walked back to the portrait and pulled it open. When I climbed through the portrait hole, I stood there for a moment, watching Potter begin to ascend the stairs to his room.

"Potter!" I yelled after him. After a second, he strolled back into the common room.

"Yeah?" he asked. I smiled at him.

"Happy Christmas, Scarhead."

**Please R/R! This was my first one-shot, so I'm interested to see if I should make any more lol.**

**Thank you all that reviewed! I was absolutely thrilled to see that people actually liked it, haha! I tend to keep my writing to myself a lot, especially my Harry!Draco stories... but since reading all your reviews, I've begun forcing my friends to read it just to get their feedback, too. Seriously though, thank you all so much, you have no idea how much positive feedback means to me:)**

**If you're interested, I have another story that's in the works. It's a bit more in depth, and will be about 20 chapters when it's all said and done... However, I'm completely out of the swing of writing long chapters, so they're all less than five pages lol (give or take one or two). So yes, feel free to check that out if you have a little extra time on your hands!**

**Oh, and I just wanted to add that I****'m not British haha, so I apologize if my attempts at SOUNDING British went awry ;)**

**.../end of ramble.**


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